


The SHIELD Agent's Guide to the (Un)Common Werewolf

by stepantrofimovic



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Pre-Canon, Werewolf Clint Barton, aka everything is nice and nothing hurts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-02 16:29:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8674555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stepantrofimovic/pseuds/stepantrofimovic
Summary: Or, five things about werewolves that Phil Coulson did not comment upon, and one time he did.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [orderlychaos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orderlychaos/gifts).



> For chaosisorderly, who asked for werewolf!Clint, and a number of other tropes that I really hope I managed to fit into a more or less coherent story. Huge thanks to calltomuster for her precious help with beta-ing this story.

**1\. Wariness**

Clint Barton can’t believe what he’s just heard. A few years ago, maybe, he could have – before he spent what feels like half of his life as a hired assassin, constantly on the run from, well, people like the man currently standing in front of him. Average-looking, unambiguously _human_ government agents with a gun levelled at him. The kind of people who are supposed to be trying to, y’know, shoot him, not get him to work for them.

Well, technically, the shooting thing has happened already. There were at least four more agents in his pursuit, and Clint can only thank his enhanced healing for the fact that he’s still standing. And yet, everyone else seems to have disappeared, so Clint is left with the man in front of him and what he has just said. “Mr. Barton, I’m Agent Coulson, of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. I’d like to offer you a job.”

Well, if one thing is clear, it’s that despite knowing his name the man has no idea who he’s talking to.

“Believe me,” Clint says, showing his teeth off in the most predatory grin he can muster while being drenched in rain and still aching from a shot through his leg, “whoever your employers are, you don’t want someone like me.” He even lets his eyes flash yellow for a moment, to add to the effect of his pointy canines.

The man – Agent Coulson, because apparently the first thing you do when you’ve cornered a werewolf assassin nowadays is to introduce yourself – gives him a bland, entirely human-toothed smile in return.

“You haven’t met my employers yet, Mr. Barton.”

***

**2\. Shedding**

It looks like Agent Barton is good at pushing people’s boundaries.

No, Phil Coulson isn’t saying this because Barton’s behaviour is giving rise to disciplinary complaints. The few that have been filed during Barton’s first months of active service in SHIELD are already a thing of the past – partially because most of Barton’s assignments are now being handled by Coulson himself, and partially thanks to the two or three times Coulson had to call a huffy handler up to his office and give him a piece of his mind about the acceptable amount of prejudice against werewolves in disciplinary procedure requests. (Which, by the way, is none at all. In case anyone was asking.)

No, Coulson’s reflections on Barton and boundaries have little to do with SHIELD discipline, and a lot to do with the couch in Phil’s office. The same couch that Phil has been staring at for a couple of minutes.

The same couch that is currently covered in strands of blonde and greyish fur.

Phil sighs. One might say, of course, that this is nothing but the natural convergence of two tendencies – Agent Barton’s preference for the aforementioned couch and the fact that lately he seems to be starting to feel comfortable enough to shift to his wolf form while in Phil’s office. (He’s trying to be flippant about the second one, of course, passing it off as if it were some way of annoying his handler, but Phil has been around Nick long enough to recognize this sort of thing for what it is. Trust.)

Right now, however, the whole thing just looks like a dry-cleaning nightmare. Phil sighs again, allows himself a two-second private smile at the mental image of Barton curled up on his couch for the whole afternoon, and calls Jasper to ask for recommendations on cleaners.

(The next time Agent Barton comes to his handler’s office, he finds his favourite couch covered with a new blanket. He doesn’t mind – it’s soft, and it still smells like Coulson.)

***

**3\. Warmth**

When they get back to SHIELD, of course, Clint is going to be glib about it, laugh it off and tell people that he never doubted they were going to make it. The truth, however, is that there’s a point, as they’re stranded in the Siberian tundra and he starts to see Coulson struggle more and more against the biting cold, shaking all over and hunching against the wind and stumbling in the snow – the truth is, there’s a point when he starts thinking that they’re never going to survive that. Which means, of course, that _Coulson_ is not going to survive –Clint, with his lycan biology and higher body temperature in addition to the fur protecting him, can at least last a lot longer, even if the cold is starting to bother him. But the thought, no, the very real perspective of Coulson dying on him – yeah, Clint will not be remembering that with any sort of fondness.

When Coulson stumbles for the last time, finally falling to his knees and looking like he won’t get up again, Clint ends up curled up around him in his wolf form, trying to somehow will the warmth to seep from his own body to Coulson’s. He will have nightmares about that, he knows – lying there, listening to Coulson’s breath getting slower and slower, feeling the hand that was twisted into his fur go progressively slacker. If Clint spends the next few hours whining softly and desperately nosing at Coulson’s chest, well, there’s no one around who will tell.

When the rescue party finally finds them, Clint watches them load Coulson onto a stretcher and make him disappear into the belly of a Quinjet before he turns to press his muzzle into Agent May’s lap. May – who is not a shapeshifter herself, but her mother is a were-fox, so Clint knows that he can trust her to understand what he’s feeling right now – simply sighs and lightly pats his head before moving on to scratching behind his ears.

A few days later, after Coulson has regained full consciousness, Clint will wonder whether she’s told him about the way they were found, or if he remembers Clint trying to keep him warm. Either way, Coulson says nothing except some brief thanks for getting him out of there alive, so Clint stays quiet as well.

***

**4\. Territoriality**

“There’s a wolf in your living room,” Jasper says, wandering into the kitchen just as Phil is taking the latest batch of gingerbread cookies out of the oven. (Yes, they’re having a Christmas party and he’s baking gingerbread cookies. He likes being predictable with this sort of things, it’s comforting.)

“I have been informed,” Phil replies, keeping his voice carefully neutral, even though the knowledge that Barton has accepted his invitation to join them for Christmas even though it fell on a full moon warms his heart a little. After all, there’s only so much that SHIELD-issued suppressants can do when your whole biology is urging you to shapeshift, and the fact that Clint feels comfortable enough to change to his wolf form even though there are people around, rather than going through the pain and effort of staying human throughout the full moon, tells Phil that Clint considers his house a safe space. Which is a huge victory. Professionally speaking, that is.

“He snarled at me,” Jasper continues. To anyone who doesn’t know about him and Nick (who is currently laying on the rug under the table, pretending to be asleep but keeping a keen eye and ear on everything), he would sound almost recklessly flippant about it.

Phil narrows his eyes at him. “What did you do?”

Jasper raises his eyebrows in mock innocence. “Nothing. I was just having a look at your bookshelves.” He crouches down to scratch lightly at Nick’s jaw, on the side that is not marked by the scars around his missing eye. It’s always fascinated Phil, seeing how tactile Nick is when he’s in wolf form. If the combined thought of that and Clint’s attitude towards him does funny things to his insides, well, it’s no one’s business, really.

Still, the way Jasper is currently making a show of ignoring him tells Phil that he knows exactly what he was doing wrong. “Were you trying to mess with my alphabetizing?” Phil is very proud of the way his bookshelves are sorted (Dewey Decimal, of course), and that makes them an easy target for Jasper’s pranks. It’s a tradition of theirs, really – every time Jasper comes to visit, Phil will find that a couple of his history books have been moved to the science fiction section, or that the encyclopaedias have been rearranged so the volumes spell ‘nerd’.

“Maybe,” is Jasper’s noncommittal answer. “Still don’t see how this should concern Barton. Unless I was somehow encroaching on his territory.”

This time, Phil’s stomach does a veritable somersault. The mental image of Clint protecting his stuff – well. He really doesn’t need to think about it right now, not when he’s surrounded by spy friends (and werewolves) who will most definitely spot or smell any sign of nervousness. Or arousal. Seriously, he does _not_ want to think about that now. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he finally says.

Jasper smirks. Phil has a feeling that Nick is doing the same from under the table.

***

**5\. Discrimination**

Undercover ops, Clint grouses to himself, are the absolute worst. The fact that it’s just for one evening, or that Coulson is the one who has to do the actual undercover part, does not help in this specific case. Not when Clint needs to be on comms with Coulson the whole time, ready to step in as soon as he’s gained access to the vault where Vanchat’s last weapon shipment is supposed to be hidden.

Sure, Clint is glad that he’s not the one who needs to schmooze his way through the plastic-y entertainment of an upper-class party. What is not making things easier for him is the tone of the specific conversation that Coulson has been roped into at the moment.

“Every time I see one of those ’weres,” a middle-aged woman says, her disgusted expression clearly discernible on Clint’s surveillance feed, “it always makes me feel – I don’t know, less than safe? I mean, everyone knows that they’re dangerous. Naturally violent, is what they say.”

“I wonder why the government isn’t doing more about them,” a man in his twenties says. Phil gives him a tight-lipped smile and a nod of understanding. Clint kind of wants to punch something.

Rationally, he knows that Coulson cannot risk breaking his cover over this, of course he does. And they knew the feelings of Vanchat’s associates on the topic of werewolves even before they infiltrated this party. Still, having Coulson just stand around and smile as if a conversation like this one was nothing less than normal – it makes an uneasy feeling well up in Clint’s stomach.

Speaking of Vanchat’s associates, the one that is stepping into the conversation now is rather well-known to SHIELD as his head of security. “There are many solutions to this particular problem,” he interjects, his voice smooth and controlled as if he was talking about the weather. “The government is just afraid to get their hands dirty with those goddamned shape-shifters.”

The details that follow make Clint wish that he could put an arrow through the man’s mouth there and then more than once. It’s a good thing that after the conversation is finished Coulson starts to move towards the area of the house where their intel suggests the vault is located, because he would not have been able to keep quiet and hold his position for much longer.

He is not disappointed that the op ends up being messier than they planned, leading to them having to engage directly with Vanchat’s men. They’re not much of a challenge for him and Coulson together, and the fight gives Clint a chance to blow off some of the tension rather than risk taking it out on Coulson as they fly back to base.

As they get through the latest of Vanchat’s thugs, Clint turns around to see Coulson leaning over the kneeling form of who else but the head of security from earlier in the night. He’s twisting both of his arms behind his back, pressing down on him, before bending forward to whisper something in his ear. Clint can’t quite catch what was said, but the glance that the head of security sends in his direction before Coulson knocks him out is downright terrified.

Clint smiles to himself. This whole thing might just have been worth it, after all.

***

**\+ 1.**

“Agent Barton, in my office, please.”

Well, shit. Clint can’t say that this wasn’t a long time coming, of course. He knows that he’s not been – well, he’s been behaving weirdly around Coulson as of late, and it might have gotten out of hand in the last few days. After all, it’s not Clint’s fault that the full moon’s approaching and that Coulson seems to be doing his best to look more and more attractive the closer it gets to the end of the month. And it’s hard not to act like an idiot when the only thing you want to do is back your handler against a wall and, well. Do all sorts of _things_ to him.

And then Agent O’Donnell had to step in and start flirting with Coulson right in front of him. Really, it’s not Clint’s fault that things got a little out of hand.

Natasha is going to kill him, he thinks. Take him out to the woods and kill him.

Still, he follows Coulson to his office, of course. As soon as they’re inside and the door is closed, Coulson positions himself so that he’s leaning against his desk, half-turned towards Clint. His expression is – uh. Well. Amused?

“Did you just _growl_ at Agent O’Donnell, Barton?”

Yes, he did. He was also posturing a bit, if he’s being honest. Really, he’s being ridiculous.

“I apologize,” he says, looking down and hoping that Coulson will not be too mad at him.

When Coulson speaks, though, his voice is kind, if still slightly amused. “My best friend is a werewolf, Clint. And,” he adds, after a slight pause, “my _other_ best friend is in a relationship with said werewolf. So, while I really don’t want to go into what that means or how ridiculous they were when they got together, thank you very much – my point is that, well, I know what werewolf courting rituals look like.”

“Ridiculous, is what they look like,” Clint starts to answer, before the full impact of what Coulson has just said registers in his brain.

_Oh._

“In case it was not clear,” Coulson hastens to fill the silence, “I do not mind. Uh. I quite like it, actually.”

He’s blushing, Clint realizes. His cheeks are tinged with the slightest touch of bright red, and it’s fucking adorable, and Clint is so over waiting.

One second later, he has Coulson (Phil, it’s probably time to start calling him Phil) backed against the door – for real, this time. If he lets himself go a little, letting some of the kisses they exchange in the next few minutes turn into light bites, well, Phil doesn’t seem to mind. At least judging from the sounds he makes.

***

A few hours later, when Phil walks into Nick’s office as if nothing had happened, Nick drops his head in his hands.

“I’m so damn glad that you two finally got your shit together, Cheese,” he says, “but please, remember that I can smell everything you did.”

He’s never seen Coulson blush as much as he does now. Indeed, he finds it quite amusing.

**Author's Note:**

> Since authors have now been revealed, I'll add my usual invitation: you're always welcome to join me [on tumblr](http://stepantrofimovic.tumblr.com/) for squeeing/geeking/prompting...


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